


Danseur

by streetlights



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Ballet, Dancing, Gen, Ice Skating, Pre-Movie, lonely!Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/streetlights/pseuds/streetlights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has no one to dance with, so he dances alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danseur

**Author's Note:**

> So this was based off [this post](http://walmartcashierjackfrost.tumblr.com/post/38145504053/frostyjackk-walmartcashierjackfrost). Basically, Jack would make the perfect ballerina.

He glides across the ice with perfect grace – or, well, as perfect as he could manage. He’s no professional, and he’s certainly not practiced, but he’s flexible enough and graceful enough: he walks along electrical wires like a tightrope walker; tiptoes with perfect ease, like a cat slinking silently under the shadows; he slides across the ice trails that creep along the edges of rooftops and ropes and tree branches (steadily, without falter); he’s light on his feet, and lighter in the air; he’s a dancer, but nobody needs to know that.

He’s seen them all: tap, hip-hop, jazz, contemporary. But Jack has his own brand of dancing: something akin to a mix of figure skating and ballet; flexible and expressive and _free_ , without the rigid rules of the latter. Because Jack is a free spirit, and he’s never been one to bind himself to rules.

He’s had practice (enough days ghosting over dancers of each time and era). His lake is the perfect stage for his recital. The ice is smooth enough; it doesn’t cut or break even when he leaves jagged ice trails in his wake, because he’s Jack Frost, and ice was always – will always be – his element. He trusts that the ice and Wind will catch him in his tours en l’airs and sautés, his soubresauts and (his personal favorite) his somersaults. He dances for no audience, except for the Wind and the Moon, because this is one thing Jack keeps to himself. _(Like he had a choice.)_

But there are days when he tries. He reaches out and tries to grab someone’s hand (in a ballroom, in a dance hall, in a nearby school gymnasium even), but they never touch, never connect. He pretends though, sometimes; pretends that he is the masked man sweeping the fine lady off her feet; pretends that he is the dainty schoolgirl being led to the school dance; pretends that he is not alone, but dancing, spinning, _waltzing_ with another person, hands clasped together and breath mingling, faces close enough to kiss.

But these illusions never last, and Jack always leaves before the night ends, the song’s melody haunting his ears as he departs. He leaves flurries of snow in his wake, light enough to make things pretty and romantic, because it’s the least he could do for stealing a dance.

It’s hard being alone, but it’s harder to be lonely.


End file.
